


Worlds To Change and Worlds To Win

by betweentheheavesofstorm



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Adorable Cosette, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cosette And Enjolras Are Siblings, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Ficlet, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gay Bar, Hook-Up, Implied Sexual Content, London
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 06:16:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8316970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betweentheheavesofstorm/pseuds/betweentheheavesofstorm
Summary: ‘So why did Musichetta send you our way?’ The boy, Combeferre, wants to know. ‘Did you express an interest in social justice or polyamory?’





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday Carol!!!

For the first time in her life, Cosette is in a gay bar. By herself, because Enjolras has traitorously disappeared with the curly-haired bartender. She’s pretending to text, because the alternative is to admit that she’s sitting alone and she’s not ready to look that needy yet.

She only turned eighteen yesterday. As did Enjolras, because you know, twins. So, this is the most adult thing she’s done since her birthday and she’s drinking Sprite. Very slowly, so that she doesn’t have to buy anything else and hoping that no one can tell it’s a soft drink just by looking at the glass.

(The other bartender, a pretty young woman who can’t be older than twenty, asked her if she wanted anything with the Sprite. As in, alcohol. Cosette had thought for thirty seconds before shaking her head. It isn’t like she’s never drunk before, but she hasn’t been in a bar before and she can’t think off the top of her head what would go with lemonade.)

The bar was Enjolras’s idea. He’s been eyeing it up since he came out, but he was fifteen then and they’re pretty rigorous with ID. Cosette came out a year after he did and hasn’t been harboring any desire to visit the Corinthe. Yet here she is anyway.

‘Been stood up?’ the female bartender returns to her end of the counter and Cosette regrets her decision not to find a table.

‘Not quite. I mean, no.’ She looks down at her glass. The drink’s nearly finished; maybe she’ll leave in a minute.

‘You’re the blonde guy’s sister, right?’ the bartender smiles.

‘Yes,’ Cosette affirms.

‘He went home with Grantaire, so there’s not much point waiting for him.’

Grantaire. So that’s the name of the guy. Cosette feels like she’s seen him around before, possibly in a supermarket. To the best of her recollection, he’s always smelled like wine, regardless of the time of day.

‘I hope you mean that in a sex way and not in a murder way,’ she says, which causes the female bartender to laugh.

‘You know, you’re funny. What’s your name? I’m Musichetta.’

‘Cosette.’

‘Pretty.’ Musichetta smiles again. ‘I could introduce you to some people, if you’d like. Not scary ones,’ she adds, when Cosette looks apprehensive. ‘Well, Ep can be a little scary but manageably so.’

Cosette surprises herself by agreeing. She can always leave, she thinks, and it might not hurt to meet some people while Enjolras is off losing his virginity.

‘Awesome,’ Musichetta says, and then leans over the bar and half-shouts, ‘Joly!’

A young man detaches himself from one of the nearest tables and walks over. His outfit is cheerful without being too bright; dark red trousers and a mustard yellow knitted sweater that’s a couple of sizes too big. He’s quite a bit shorter than Cosette and carries a cane in one hand.

‘Joly, this is Cosette,’ says Musichetta. ‘She’s funny and has been abandoned by her brother while he hooks up with Grantaire.’

‘Oh, the angel’s sister.’ Joly grins.

‘Introduce her to the others, yeah?’ Musichetta starts polishing glasses.

‘Sure.’ With a nod to his new acquaintance, Joly starts off back towards the table. Cosette follows him.

‘The angel?’ she asks.

‘That’s what Grantaire called him. Because of the blondness.’

‘I didn’t realize they knew each other so well.’

‘Oh, they didn’t. They’d just seen each other.’ He pauses, having reached the table. The group is of a respectable size, somewhere between seven and ten people. Joly resumes his old seat and waves to her to take the only spare one.

‘This is Cosette,’ he announces. ‘Musichetta wants her to meet you.’

‘Hi,’ Cosette says, a little tentative. She only gets one hi back, from a gangly person with long dreadlocks. Everyone else is absorbed in a story a bald guy is telling about the worst day he’s ever had. It’s all a lot to take in, so she sits there without saying anything else.

The story finishes after a couple of minutes, and now Cosette’s presence in the group is noted. More people say hello and introduce themselves, but their names wash over her without registering.

‘Come here often?’ The girl on her right twists round to face her. Cosette knows without being told that this is the Ep Musichetta mentioned, because she’s clearly the scariest person at the table. It isn’t to do with how she dresses, though that could probably be labeled a factor. Lots of eyeliner, fishnet tights and a T-shirt that’s been hacked into a crop top create a look that in no universe could be subtle.

The actual intimidation comes from her face. Her eyes are very slightly narrowed, reminding a cat that’s deciding whether to chase after a bird or not.

‘No, this is my first time,’ Cosette answers, feeling embarrassed by how accidentally euphemistic it sounds.

The girl – Ep – smiles. ‘I could tell.’

‘You do, then? Come here often.’

‘Yeah. It’s the only place you don’t get guys hitting on you.’

‘That’s, um, good.’

Ep’s eyes flicker down to her chest. ‘I like your necklace.’

‘Oh.’ Cosette’s hand automatically moves to it. A small silver bird, wings outstretched in flight. ‘My mum gave it to me.’

‘It’s nice.’

 _You’re nice_ , Cosette half feels like adding. She doesn’t, though – Ep hasn’t been scary yet and she doesn’t want to do anything that will take them out of the friendly conversational zone that they’re currently inhabiting.

‘I make jewellery,’ Ep adds, as if to explain her interest.

‘That’s cool.’ Cosette tries and fails to picture the girl patiently threading beads. ‘What kind?’

‘Earrings, mostly. A few necklaces. It’s a small-scale thing.’

‘What kind of bird is it?’ the tall boy on Ep’s other side asks.

Cosette hadn’t realised he’d been listening. ‘A lark.’

‘What type?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t know there was more than one type.’

‘You’re such a nerd,’ Ep tells the boy. Then, to Cosette, ‘Combeferre’s like, the ultra student. Everything you can think of he’s been interested in at some point. Biology, astronomy, dinosaurs, bugs – _everything._ ’

‘That’s cool,’ Cosette says again. Perhaps she can forgive Enjolras and his lust for Dionysus wannabes. These people are definitely weird, but it’s a good sort of weird and she’s somehow managed to seem cool enough to get Ep’s attention.

‘So why did Musichetta send you our way?’ The boy, Combeferre, wants to know. ‘Did you express an interest in social justice or polyamory?’

‘Um, no. Should I have?’

‘Only to the first one,’ Ep says. ‘It’s meant to be our thing. We’re technically a student organization, but most of what we do involves hanging out here and bothering the locals into signing our petitions.’

‘Enjolras would like you,’ Cosette says. ‘He complains that none of his friends care about the state of the world.’

‘Well, you know where to find us.’ Ep shrugs. She raises her glass to her lips and finishes her drink, and then turns to Cosette. ‘Can I get you a something?’

‘Don’t hit on her, she doesn’t know you don’t mean it,’ says Combeferre quickly.

Ep rounds on him. ‘How do you know I don’t mean it?’

‘Thanks, but I’m good,’ Cosette says, wondering whether Ep meant it in a flirtatious way or not.

‘You sure? ‘Cause Chetta always gives me a discount and I promise to get you something that tastes nice.’

‘You can’t buy me drinks, I don’t even know your name.’ It’s a lie, but Ep has no way of knowing that.

‘Fine,’ she says. ‘It’s Éponine. I’ll get you a Coke if you don’t want anything alcoholic.’

That makes sense, that Ep was only a nickname. Cosette suddenly feels silly. ‘Alcohol is fine,’ she says, ‘as long as you stick to your promise about it tasting nice.’

Éponine grins wolfishly, and gets up from the table. ‘See you in a minute. Don’t bore her, Ferre.’

Combeferre smiles. Then, to Cosette, ‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine,’ Cosette says, amazed by the fact that it’s true. ‘So you guys are a social justice organization?’

‘Theoretically, yes. We don’t get much done but we’re also not in a position to do a lot.’

‘And a gay bar is your headquarters.’

‘Actually, our headquarters is a queer café but I see where you’re coming from.’

‘Musichetta, she’s one of you?’

‘Yes. We first met her because she’s dating Bossuet and Joly, but she’s a member too now.’

‘Ah, so that was why you mentioned polyamory.’

‘Everyone else is monogamous.’

‘Are a lot of you dating each other?’

He thinks for a second. ‘I was going to say no, but I realized that wasn’t true. I’ve been with Courfeyrac for a year now, Musichetta’s trio you’ve met and Bahorel and Feuilly have been sleeping together since God knows when.’

‘Does that make this a triple date?’

‘Oh, even double-dating is too much. It always breaks down in some way. We spend a lot of time as a group, though, so in that way I suppose yes.’

‘Here,’ Éponine returns, setting a brown bottle down in front of Cosette. ‘Kopparberg cider, mixed berry flavour. Doesn’t taste at all like alcohol.’

‘Thanks.’ Cosette looks at the label. Sure enough, there’s a picture of a raspberry. ‘What are you having?’

‘Straight vodka,’ says Éponine, completely serious, and then laughs. ‘Gin and tonic.’

Determined not to appear tentative, Cosette tries the cider. It’s sweet and fruity. ‘This is great. Thank you.’

‘Don’t mention it.’ Éponine sips her own drink. ‘So, what are you doing?’

‘In life? Here? Right now?’

‘I was going for in life, but any of the above will do.’

‘I’m at uni. First year.’

‘Nice. What are you studying?’

‘Biology.’

Éponine raises her eyebrows. ‘I’m impressed. You give off more of an arts and humanities vibe.’

‘I thought a while about doing English Literature,’ Cosette admits. ‘Or History of Art. But I really like Bio and girls are so under-represented in STEM subjects.’

‘Yeah, we’re definitely recruiting you,’ Éponine says. ‘Cute _and_ interested in making the world a better place. You fit our M.O.’

‘What about you? What are you up to?’

‘At the moment I’m trying to get my parents arrested and hoping not to be evicted.’ Éponine smiles to take some of the bite out of the words. It only half works.

‘How come? If you don’t mind my asking.’

‘Essentially, they’re up to their ears in illegal shit and it would give me a lot of vindictive pleasure to see them in jail.’

‘OK. Wow.’ Not being able to think of anything else to say, Cosette concentrates on drinking her cider instead.

‘Weren’t they illegally subletting?’ Combeferre asks, rejoining the conversation in the ensuing pause. ‘I thought you were going to try and expose them for that.’

‘Oh yeah, I thought about it. To be honest, though, letting Montparnasse sleep in the spare room is one of their more minor crimes. Really, I want to try and get the police to run a drugs bust, they’d find a goldmine.’

‘Could you like, tip them off?’ It’s a mark of a weird night that Cosette’s drinking a cider that someone else bought for her and is now suggesting ways that this same person could expose her parents. ‘Call in anonymously and disguise your voice.’

‘I thought about that,’ Éponine sighs. ‘But they’d find out it was me. My parents, I mean. And that would be not great.’

‘What if someone else did it? One of us could report having seen something suspicious.’

‘Again, no good. You’d have to say a lot more than ‘they looked suspicious’ for the police to take it seriously. Best case scenario, they’d go round for a chat and by the time they’d got a warrant all the goods would have been moved.’

Cosette deflates. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what to suggest.’

‘You don’t have to. It’s not your problem.’ Éponine takes a big gulp of her drink and then adds, ‘I’ll think of something eventually. The longer I wait, the more bitter I get, so when it does come it’ll be something good.’

Unable to think of what to say next, Cosette directs her attention back to the main group. Joly and a huge bearded guy – his name began with a B, she thinks – are trying to balance an empty glass on another guy’s bald head. They’re not having much success, as the bald guy keeps shaking with laughter.

‘You wanna go somewhere?’ Éponine asks suddenly.

‘What do you mean?’ Cosette’s not sure she heard her right.

‘For a walk or something.’ Éponine shrugs. It actually looks nonchalant. If Cosette were to do that, it would probably look like she had a bug on her shoulders. ‘I thought it was stuffy in here, but we don’t have to.’

‘No, that would be nice!’ Cosette isn’t bothered by any stuffiness, but will take the invitation. A chance to spend more time with Éponine is – well, intriguing.

‘You sure? You don’t have to walk at night with someone you’ve just met. If you wouldn’t be comfortable, I get it.’

‘No,’ Cosette says decisively. ‘I’d like to. Really.’

The edge of Éponine’s mouth twitches upward. ‘Alright, then.’

She gets up and leaves without bidding goodbye to the group. Cosette hovers for a minute, mouths _nice to meet you_ at Joly and then follows. She sees Musichetta watching out of the corner of her eye and smiles at her. Musichetta offers a thumbs-up.

It’s warmer outside than Cosette expected. Not hot, the heat of the day has faded with the sun, but decidedly not cold. She walks behind Éponine a couple of paces until the pavement is wide enough for them both.

‘Where are we going?’

‘The canal,’ Éponine says.

‘OK.’

They’ve hit another dead-end. It’s annoying that this keeps happening. When they do talk, Cosette thinks that they’re getting along well and maybe there’s some chemistry. Then another pause appears and drags on and the possibility that they’re at the start of something beautiful seems less likely.

‘Grantaire,’ she says eventually. ‘He’s your friend? One of your group?’

‘Yes and no. We’re all friends with him and he’d die for me but he’s not an activist.’

‘Why not? I thought that was everyone’s thing.’

‘He’s too sarcastic. Or maybe too bitter.’

‘Aren’t you those things too?’

Éponine laughs, surprised. ‘Yes. But I’m angry about it as well. I suppose that’s the difference.’

‘What did you mean, he’d die for you?’

‘We live together. It’s kind of a best friend deal.’

‘It’s not the usual way you’d say it, though.’

‘Oh, you mean why didn’t I say _I’d die for him?’_

Cosette nods.

‘I got younger siblings. I love R, but I’m not taking any bullets for him.’

‘But he’s taking them for you? Sounds like a good friend.’

‘Mm. Your brother’s in great hands. Literally.’

‘Ew. I did not need those mental images.’

‘Sorry.’ Éponine doesn’t sound or look very sincere. Maybe taking virgins out for sweet evening walks and then disgusting them is her thing.

Cosette’s so busy applying mental bleach that she walks right past the canal entrance. Éponine has to call her back, which is kind of embarrassing when you consider how much time Cosette spends in this area.

‘Just be careful, the stairs are a bitch in the dark.’ Éponine descends first, slowly but without using the handrail. Cosette’s a little more cautious. She remembers the steps being awkward and now that she can’t see them she doesn’t want to take any chances. It wouldn’t be a good end to the evening if she tripped and broke her ankle.

Once she’s down on the towpath, though, she can see why Éponine chose here. In daylight, the canal is pretty and hipster and provides a pleasant walk or an alternative commuting route.

It’s uglier in the dark. The bridge blocks out a chunk of the light-polluted sky and the lampposts cast a white light over the path and the water. The bricks seem dirtier and the dandelions growing at the edges of the path (which during the day add to the rustic charm) contribute to the general shoddiness. It looks like the sort of place Cosette would avoid going at night for fear of being assaulted.

Yet at the same time there’s something about it that draws her attention. Perhaps it’s how the canal looks almost silver or the way it’s completely empty, as if it’s been reserved for them. Maybe there are dragons in the shadows, but they’re dragons Cosette would like to meet.

‘It’s horrible,’ she says. ‘I like it.’

‘There’s a bench just along here,’ Éponine indicates. ‘If you want to sit.’

‘Sitting is good.’

It’s more of a love seat than a bench; she does her best not to sit too close without making it look like she’s trying to get away.

‘Everything around here is so gentrified,’ Éponine says, tucking a strand of curly hair behind her ear. ‘You’ve got to work to find something that’s real.’

‘Do you live nearby?’

‘Yeah. Do you know where the B&Q is?’

Cosette nods.

‘OK, do you know the tall block of flats behind the B&Q? The one that looks like you could push it and it would fall over?’

Another nod.

‘I share with Grantaire, and Joly and Bossuet are across the hall.’

‘What about Musichetta?’

‘She inherited a flat in Camden and refuses to sell, despite the fortune she’d make from it.’

‘Sounds nice.’

‘It is. Really small, otherwise she’d share with Feuilly.’

‘There are so many of you. It’s going to take me a while to learn names.’ She looks from the river to Éponine and notices what she hadn’t seen before; the edge of a tattoo underneath the sleeve of the crop top.

Éponine sees her looking and lifts up the sleeve to reveal it. It’s a band, encircling her arm. At first Cosette thinks it’s something floral, but when she looks closer she realizes it’s barbed wire.

‘Why wire?’ she asks, adding hastily, ‘unless it’s like, a private thing.’

‘I don’t know,’ Éponine says. ‘I got it when I was eighteen; Montparnasse took me.’

‘He’s the guy your parents work with?’ Cosette’s head is swimming with names, but she recalls this one.

‘That’s him. I hope my many affiliations with criminals isn’t putting you off. If it helps, I stopped doing illegal shit ages ago.’

‘It does. Thanks.’

‘I still feel like we don’t know each other. What’s your favourite colour?’

‘Yellow. You?’

‘Red. Sometimes green, but it’s too quiet and doesn’t suit me.’

Any colour would probably look great on Éponine, but Cosette doesn’t say that. Instead she tilts her head back. ‘You can’t see any stars. Too polluted, I guess.’

‘And, you know, it’s cloudy.’

‘Forget I said that.’ She should have realized that; the clouds have a pinkish tint from all the city lights.

‘Do you like stars? I had you pegged for more of a flower person.’

‘I like them both. I didn’t think they were mutually exclusive.’

‘I guess not.’ Éponine fixes her gaze on the canal. ‘I’m used to picking one. When I was a kid, my dad used to play this game with me. Choosing things. Only it wasn’t, you know, dogs or cats? It was things you couldn’t compare. Soup or the colour blue. Nail polish or my favourite song.’

‘Stars or flowers?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I don’t think I like your dad.’

‘Because of that?’

‘No. You said other things. But that sounds weird. You don’t _have_ to have a shortlist of favourites.’

‘Mm. What’s your dad like?’

‘Nice. We don’t really fight much.’ Cosette suddenly smiles, remembering. ‘Apart from the time I wanted to learn karate so I could hit people at school.’

‘ _No._ You?’

‘Yeah. It was one of those things; there were clique-y girls and they were mean to me because I didn’t have lipgloss or the right kind of lunchbox. And they were always teasing Enjolras. So I thought, what better way to get my point across than with violence?’

‘That’s adorable.’ Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but Éponine’s expression seems softer. It’s as if she’s forgotten for a minute that she’s meant to be prickly.

‘For some reason my dad disagreed. We had a long talk about rising above it and not giving them satisfaction.’

‘When I was in primary I got suspended for punching a boy.’

‘I would have liked you.’

‘I don’t know. I was a lipgloss person.’

‘Why d’you hit the boy, then?’

‘I can’t remember. I think he said my parents were drug dealers. I should really track him down and apologise.’

‘I feel like we’ve shared a lot this evening.’

‘Yeah. You better not turn into one of those people who make a great first impression and then reveal themselves to be really annoying.’

‘Thanks, I think? I’ll try not to be.’

‘I just have one more question.’

‘All right.’

‘It’s slightly personal, so if it’s something you don’t wanna talk about we don’t have to.’

‘I wasn’t worried, but now I am.’

‘Are you straight?’

‘Oh. No.’

And now there’s a playful edge to Éponine’s voice. ‘Do you like girls?’

This night has gone in a very different direction than Cosette had expected. ‘Yes.’

‘OK, another personal question. Again, you can say no.’

‘OK,’ she repeats.

‘Can I kiss you?’

Cosette says nothing. She hasn’t kissed anyone since she was fifteen and went out with a boy called Mark at her secondary. He was cute and sweet and their relationship lasted a month and a half. It’s been so long since she kissed someone that she’s not sure she’ll be any good at it. Or even that she wants to again.

Then she looks at Éponine, who she met today and already likes more than a lot of other people she knows. Who’s cool and bitter and has brought Cosette to one of her favourite places.

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I’d like that.’

Éponine scoots closer and Cosette, feeling a rush of unexpected confidence, leans in first. It would be suave move, if she hadn’t miscalculated the distance and ends up kissing much harder than she’d meant to. After the first second, though, she decides it’s a fortunate mistake. Éponine is certainly enthusiastic enough for her not to feel self-conscious.

Cosette is definitely enjoying herself. This is the sort of kissing that happens on TV, with violins and romance and pretty cinematography that’s destined to spawn hundreds of gif sets. Kissing Mark was never like that. It was nice, but that was all. Just ‘nice’. No heart pounding, hands resting on Éponine’s shoulders and tangling in her hair. They could be on a bridge at sunset, that’s how good this kiss is. The dingy canal and damp bench are suddenly the pinnacle of romance.

Éponine’s mouth opens a little. Cosette follows suit. She’s been nervous about kissing, but now that they’re doing it it’s the easiest thing in the world.

The kiss deepens and Cosette’s heart rate speeds up another notch. Perhaps it’s because she’s never been kissed like this that it’s so overpowering, that she can think of nothing but Éponine’s body and how far away it is.

‘Hey,’ Éponine breaks away. For a moment her face hovers, inches from Cosette’s, before retreating properly.

‘Hey,’ Cosette says, feeling herself flush.

‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘Something tells me you don’t go to bars and snog strangers a lot.’

‘You’re not a stranger.’

‘Still.’

‘I’m good. Very good.’ Cosette lets out a shaky breath. ‘I mean, yes, it’s a lot. But it’s a good lot.’

‘In that case, how does a date sound?’

‘A date?’

‘Yeah, it’s this wild thing where you get to know each other? Why, did you think I was planning to seduce you and lead you on a wild night of debauchery?’

‘I know you’re joking, but that sounds pretty good,’ Cosette says, emboldened by the recent memory of Éponine’s mouth. ‘Debauchery…and stuff.’

Éponine’s eyebrows shoot straight up. ‘Are you saying what I think you are?’

‘Well, I’m saying it wouldn’t be mankind’s biggest tragedy of we were to go back to yours. Or mine. Wait no, it would have to be yours – my dad’s home.’

‘You don’t want to introduce me? Am I not meet-the-parent material?’

‘My dad can only deal with one of his kids losing their virginity at a time,’ Cosette says.

‘Don’t worry.’ Smile lines crease the corners of Éponine’s eyes. ‘My place isn’t far.’

They rise, and head back up the stairs.

‘Wait,’ says Cosette, stopping halfway up. ‘You live with Grantaire, right? And he went back with Enjolras.’

Éponine clocks immediately. ‘Don’t worry, he’ll be somewhere else. Our walls are thin, so we have alternate nights when we can bring someone home. It’s my night tonight.’

‘Where will they be, then?’ Cosette can’t imagine her brother agreeing to have sex anywhere other than a bed. Not that she and Enjolras have had a conversation about ideal sex locations. That’s too weird to imagine.

‘At Bahorel’s probably. He’s got a spare room and soundproofing.’

Reassured, Cosette starts climbing again. They hadn’t been down by the canal for very long, she realizes. Just long enough for everything to change completely.

________

 

Éponine’s curtains are useless at blocking morning light, Cosette discovers. Waking early, she lies on her side of the single mattress for some time, slowly inspecting her surroundings. She hadn’t seen much of the room – or indeed, the flat – the night before. There had been – well, other things on her mind.

Beside her, Éponine remains fast asleep. She looks more comfortable and peaceful than Cosette’s ever seen her awake.

It’s a small room, without much in it besides the bed, wardrobe and desk. A makeup bag sits on the desk and there’s a leather jacket slung over the back of the chair, but there are hardly any personal marks on the room itself.

Easing herself up slowly, Cosette gets off the bed, making sure to tuck the duvet round her sleeping partner. Her bare feet make no sound on the carpet; she walks through to the main room of the apartment.

It’s much lighter in here. It looks like a space that’s being lived in. There’s artwork everywhere: paintings blu-tacked to the wall and pencil sketches stuck to the fridge. A couple of houseplants sit on the windowsill and the draining rack is full of mismatched crockery. A small, battered wooden table stands in the middle of the kitchen. Its surface is worn and scratched; it looks like people have carved their initials into it.

Cosette moves closer to the wall, wanting to look at the pictures. They’re still life, mostly: a chair, watch, an old wizened tree. Here and there is a person, faces she vaguely remembers from the previous night. The picture she likes the most is one of Éponine and Musichetta. It must have been copied from a photo; their poses are so fluid and dynamic.

Hanging from the ceiling between paintings, amusingly juxtaposed with the art, is a worn punching bag with a pair of gloves attached. Éponine’s, Cosette guesses. It’s not hard to assume that someone so angry would want to hit things.

She’s gone back to looking at the drawings when there’s a bang. She jumps, realizing a moment later that it’s the noise of the front door opening. The sound of two voices follow, one of which sounds very familiar.

‘…a great guy, but his pancakes are a certified health hazard,’ the one she doesn’t recognise is saying. Seconds later two people walk into the kitchen.

‘Cosette?’

‘Enjolras?’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Nice to meet you.’ The curly-haired bartender grins, extending a hand. ‘You must be my boyfriend’s sister.’


End file.
